Three Years Later: The Trauma We Carry

I want to end with something very personal.

I mentioned before that my son was born on October 7th, and that has created one of the strangest contradictions in my life.

Every year, October 7th is his birthday, and every year for the past three years, October 7th is October 7th.

I'll never forget the morning of his birthday in 2023.

My wife and I walked into his room and we were in tears.

We had just begun to understand what was happening in Israel.

We were watching the news.

We were texting family and friends.

We were trying to comprehend the scale of the catastrophe that was just beginning.

And then we walked into our son's bedroom and it was his birthday.

In our household, we have a very important birthday tradition inspired by a dear friend at Temple Sinai.

We give our kids ice cream in bed.

So we did.

We brought him ice cream.

We sang happy birthday in English and Hebrew.

We smiled.

We pretended for a few minutes that everything was normal.

And it wasn't.

And yet somehow it was, because I think that is the Jewish way.

We don't deny that the world is broken.

We don't pretend that suffering isn't real.

We don't tell ourselves that if we celebrate a birthday, we have somehow forgotten the people who died.

We hold both.

We cry and we sing.

We mourn and we celebrate.